[Written for the Sentinel.]


Ofttimes, when meditation steeps my heartIn harmony and hush and ambient light,I seem to stand apartFrom thoughts that to my duller moods respond;Like some lone watcher, leaning out of nightTo glean one shaft of glory far beyond.

Calmly I climb the holy hill of hope,And from its summit higher summits view,—Above the sensual scope,—Whose sheer heights human daring may not bind,Shining, aloof, cleaving the eternal blue—The mighty Himalayan mounts of Mind!

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